


Somewhere in New England, Autumn 2002

by Woodentrain



Series: 500 word prompts [4]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: 15 years later, 5+1 Things, Angst and Feels, CMBYN Drabble Challenge, Infidelity, M/M, POV Elio Perlman, Sunsets, ghost spots, pianist Elio, various hypothetical scenarios
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-15 19:28:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29069562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Woodentrain/pseuds/Woodentrain
Summary: We were leaving his classroom and stepped into the commons where one of those long, languorous autumnal sunsets on the East Coast threw luminous shades of orange over the adjoining hills.Call Me By Your Name, Andre Aciman(Sunset, 5 things that didn't happen afterwards, and the 1 thing that did)
Relationships: Oliver/Elio Perlman
Series: 500 word prompts [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2175660
Comments: 148
Kudos: 90
Collections: CMBYN Drabble Challenge





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For the CMBYN drabble challenge prompt _Sunset_

This is his car. I'm sitting in the passenger seat- usually his wife's seat, I guess, assuming Oliver does most of the driving when they're out and about. I want to ask all sorts of things. _Does she have her own car, or do you share? Does she drive this one? What do you talk about when it's just you and her and the open road stretching out ahead of you?_

The radio comes on as he starts the ignition. It's a pop music station, and I have nothing against it but it's not what I expected. Oliver hurries to turn down the volume. "Sorry, sorry, I dropped the boys at school this morning and they get to pick the music. At least Matthew does, he's the eldest so-"

I want to reach out and put a hand on him in reassurance. His thigh would be the obvious place to do so.

I sit on my hands and look out of the window.

"Oliver, it's okay. I'm not judging you on the music you have in your car."

"Right. Well, there are some CDs in the side pocket if you want to pick something out."

When I pick up the stack of CDs I'm greeted by the sight of my own face.

Oliver notices my hesitation and looks at the CD case in my hand. It's one of my earliest piano recordings. I resist the temptation to check if he has any more.

"I- oh, god, this is really embarrassing."

It sort of is. An ex-lover sitting in your car finding out that you listen to his CDs while driving. 

But that's not what Oliver wants to hear, so I trade my own secret. "It's not embarrassing. Unless you think I should be embarrassed about having all of your books at home."

"You do?"

"Don't sound so surprised."

"I just… I don't know. You stopped writing, and I figured…" He sighs. "You know what, it doesn't matter."

He switches the radio off and we drive to my hotel in silence.

Oliver pulls a cell phone out of his pocket when we arrive. "I have to make a quick phone call."

I take a few steps away from the car and pretend not to listen. 

"Hey, Matt, it's dad. Can you let your mom know I'm going to be late? I ran into an old friend and we're going out for a quick drink. I won't be late."

He hangs up and there's silence. I stand and gaze at the last rays of the setting sun as it dips below the horizon of the distant hills. 

"It's so beautiful. I used to live not far from here, and I didn't realise how much I miss it. I'm not sure I appreciated it enough when I had it, and it's easy to forget."

"Yeah," he whispers. "It really is." 

I turn around and blush the same pink as the sun as I realise that he's been staring at me the whole time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One thing that might have happened but didn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a one-shot but half of the people who commented said they wondered what happened next and i was wondering too so here we go! It's now going to have a few (short!) chapters.

I turn around and blush the same pink as the sun as I realise that he's been staring at me the whole time.

It’s too much. 

I avert my eyes and turn towards the hotel. “Come on, I promised you a drink. Let’s go inside.”

The moment is broken.

Things are easier when we’re sitting down with drinks in front of us. I’d be much more relaxed if it weren’t for the fact that i know i need to come clean. We’ve been drinking and chatting for ten minutes or so when fate forces my hand. I reach into my pocket for my wallet and a plain gold band falls onto the table. I look up at him sheepishly and slip it back onto my ring finger.

“You’re married.” His eyes are wide but his tone is deadpan. “You didn’t mention it.” He’s too kind to say _you made the deliberate effort to hide it._

“For three years now. I don’t know why I took the ring off.” That’s true, at least. “I was going to mention it, but I think… look, I think I just didn’t want it to be the first thing you saw and for it to set the whole tone of this- whatever this is.”

“So what is this, exactly? You tell me. You came and found me.”

“I don’t know. Old friends catching up, or ex-lovers trying to find out whether there’s still something there, even though they both know that they’re not going to do anything about it it. I’m not sure.”

“So… is there a particular reason why you came now? After all this time?” He sounds hesitant. 

This is my opening, the time to ask the question I came here to hear his answer to. “I wanted to ask you something. How did you know you were ready to be a dad?”

Oliver’s eyes widen. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

I nod slowly.

“So i guess congratulations are in order?”

“Yeah.” A few months ago that wouldn’t have been true, but now? I smile. “Yeah, I think so.”

Of course he picks up on it. He knows me too well to let me get away with it. “You _think so_? You’re not sure?”

“It wasn’t planned. It’s taken some getting used to.”

“I bet. Mine were planned, but it still took some processing.”

“We’d talked about it, but it was something for the future. Until suddenly it’s very much happening right now.”

“You’re 32. It’s a good age.”

“I know. But in some ways I don’t feel like I’m at that stage in my life. I travel a lot for concerts, for one thing. She’d like me to commit to less performances, but… music was my life before she came along. I’m afraid of losing it. I could teach more, but it’s not what I want to do. I don’t feel ready to give up this- this big part of me in exchange for a family.”

“You know I’ve felt the same way.” He doesn’t say _about you._ Doesn’t need to.

“I know. Which is part of the reason I came to talk to you. Did you regret it?”

“In some ways no, not in the slightest. But in other ways? Yes, every single day. I wonder what might have been. But I wouldn’t go back and change anything if it meant I didn’t have my kids, you know? Well, you will know. When’s the baby due?”

“Around Christmas.”

“Well, I hope everything goes well. I’m really happy for you. And to answer your question- you don’t. If you’re confident that you’re ready, then you’re probably not. If you’re questioning whether you’re up to the job, then you’ll probably be fine. When Alex was born we weren’t ready, but you adapt. You’ll be amazing, Elio. You had the best role model in your own father. Can I ask- why are you talking to me about it? Have you asked your dad?”

I sigh. “I don’t want to. You know he hasn’t been well, and he’s overjoyed about this baby. I don’t want to worry him with my insecurities. I shouldn’t be bothering you with it, especially out of the blue after all this time, but it felt like you were the person to ask. I’m sorry if it’s weird.”

“It’s not weird. I’m flattered that you thought of me. Do you have a sonogram picture?”

“I do, actually.” I take it out of my wallet and, push it across the table.

“Cute. At least, I think so?”

I laugh. “They all look the same, right?”

“Pretty much. As far as i know, anyway. Things have changed a lot since I had mine. We didn’t get a picture back then.”

“You were young. When you had them.”

He hesitates. “Yes? Kind of? But not really. It was a lot more normal to have kids in your mid-twenties back in the 80s. I felt grown up at the time, but I wouldn’t want my own kids to have kids at 25. If nothing else, that’d make me a grandfather at 50.”

I change the subject and I’m aware that it’s an abrupt shift but I need to say it before I lose my nerve. “I miss this so much. The older I get the more I miss our friendship. And now, sitting here talking to you, it feels like 15 years ago was yesterday. Like nothing has changed. If Mafalda appeared to serve us dinner it wouldn’t surprise me at all. It started with friendship, and I wish we could’ve kept that.”

“I miss that too. You don’t think we still could?”

“I would like to think so, but then I think of the way I felt when you asked me to meet your family, and the way you looked at me out by the car before we came in here. And i don’t know if we could do it.” 

Oliver doesn’t deny it. “Even if we could, maybe, I don’t think now’s the time. With everything you have going on in your life. We’ve already said enough to know that it wouldn’t be a straightforward friendship.”

I know he’s right. But. “Can I call you, some time?”

“Of course you can. I hope you will. If you need anything, you know where I am. Will you let me know when the baby’s born?”

“If you want me to.”

“Of course I do, Elio.” He takes me hand across the table. His touch is electric. “You’ll be a great dad, you know. Now- do you want another drink? Make the most of your freedom while you can.”

I nod and smile, squeeze his hand and let it go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on tumblr- [natures-cunning-ways](https://natures-cunning-ways.tumblr.com/).  
> 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second thing that could have happened but didn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember- we're dealing with different possibilities here. 5 alternate realities if you like. So this chapter has nothing to do with the previous one.  
> We're back at the setting sun. Nothing more has been said. Elio is not married/about to have a child (as far as we know).  
> Aaaarghhh I really hope this isn't too complicated?!

I turn around and blush the same pink as the sun as I realise that he's been staring at me the whole time.

"Come on. Let's go get that drink."

*

There’s a small courtyard outside the bar, and we sit down for a few moments, enjoying the dusk and surrounded by flowers. It reminds me of something I’ve been wanting to ask him.

“Someone sends me flowers, you know. After performances.”

“I should imagine that a lot of people send you flowers after performances. I believe it’s a fairly common thing to do.”

“Well yes, that’s true.”

“What do you do with them all?”

“There aren’t that many of them. It’s not like I’m surrounded by hundreds of bouquets. I usually take some back to my hotel, and there’s always someone to give them to. Orchestra members, staff at the venue and so on. But you’re changing the subject. As I was saying, someone sends me flowers. And you’re right- sending flowers isn’t unusual in itself. But this _is_ unusual because they don’t come with a message. The first couple of times it happened I thought that the card must’ve fallen off. Got lost. But then I noticed a pattern. The first time it happened was in Paris. Which was strange because coincidentally my father was in Paris at the time, for some big classics event at the Sorbonne. A lot of classics professors were there, or so he said.” Oliver nods noncommittally. 

“So Paris was the first time. But other than that one time, it only happens around here. Always happens when I’m in Boston, for example. Hartford, New Haven, Albany. Sometimes in New York. It’s almost as if they’re from someone who lives near here.” 

“That’s sound reasoning, in a way. But when you think about it, those places aren’t really that close together. We’re talking a long drive just for a concert.”

“What do you mean- _just_ for a concert? You don’t think people drive three hours to hear me play? Have some faith in me.”

He laughs. “I’m sure they do. But-”

I interrupt. “Wait, there’s more. This person also sends books. Which is very unusual. I’ve never heard of anyone doing that before. But the thing is- it’s actually a really thoughtful thing to do. The flowers are wonderful, and it’s not that I don’t appreciate them. But books? They’re even better, really. I read a lot, I travel a lot, spend a lot of time in airports and in hotel rooms… so this person has actually thought about something that would be useful. Books are a gift in a way that flowers aren’t. And what’s more, it’s always books I like. it’s as if this person knows my tastes. The things that interest me. Things that they couldn’t have learned from interviews.”

“Huh. That is pretty weird, I guess.” His expression doesn’t convince me. Oliver’s mask of innocence is starting to slip, although you’d have to know him well to notice.

“I think so. I have some… fans, I suppose you’d call them, who send flowers to all sorts of places when I’m playing. They get the florists to deliver, of course. But either this person gets the florists to go out and buy books- which seems weird- or he hand delivers them. Which is normal, by the way. Most people who send flowers are actually at the concert, and they leave them at the stage door.”

“What makes you think it’s a he? It could be a she.”

“Call it instinct. Anyway, i just think the whole thing is rather strange. Don’t you? I wish I knew who it was.”

“I suppose it is strange. But does it matter?”

“Of course it matters. And I thought that, since you’re local, you might have an idea who it is.”

“Millions of people live in New England. Millions more in New York. It’s extremely unlikely to be someone I know.”

“Oh, but I disagree. I have a feeling you might know exactly who it is.”

He shrugs and stands up. “Probably not. At best there’s probably a one in a million chance, I should think. But we’re talking ourselves round in circles here. Should we go inside and get a drink?”

He turns towards the door but I grab his wrist, tired of playing games now. “Thank you, Oliver. It means a lot.”

He grins, pleased that it’s me and not him who finally gives up the pretence. “You’re welcome. Your playing is beautiful, by the way. You captivate me every single time.”

“I think of you every single time. You were the first person who gave me that same feeling I get when I’m on stage. The feeling that someone thinks you’re wonderful. That my music is worth something.”

“I’m sure your parents thought you were wonderful.”

“That doesn’t count. They have to think that. You should have asked them for my number, by the way. You could have come to find me and say hello.”

“My wife always asks why we never do.”

“She comes along too?” I’m not sure whether this surprises me or not.

“Of course. She knows your family, after all, and she loves your playing. She always says we should try to meet up for dinner or drinks. I always say you’re probably too busy.”

I laugh. “Pianists do have to eat, you know. I do make time for dinner.”

He sounds unsure when he asks me, “Would you have said yes? Because earlier you said that if you were to meet my family you’d prefer to feel nothing, And that you’re not sure that you could.”

“You’re right. I would probably have refused. But now? I still don’t think I could come to your home. But in a bar or a restaurant, neutral ground? Maybe I could do that. Meet your wife.”

He looks surprised. And happy. “I would like that very much. She would, too. I think you’d like her. I know she’d like you.”

“She doesn’t think that the flowers are weird?”

“She thinks it’s nice.”

“She’s right.”

“Good. I’m glad you think so.” He pauses, uncertain. “Does your boyfriend think it’s weird? I don’t want to cause trouble.”

Ah. I wondered if he’d mention it. “A lot of people send me flowers. It’s a common thing to do, you said so yourself. Besides, he has to work back home so he doesn’t usually travel with me. It’s basically a long distance relationship for half the year.”

“Oh, I didn’t know. That must be difficult.”

“We make it work.” 

I don’t tell him that we both sleep with other people when we’re apart. I’m not sure this is something Oliver would understand, and I don’t want him to think that I’m propositioning him.

“Do you want to hear a secret?”

Probably not. His secrets might hurt. “Of course.”

“The first time I saw you play, it was… overwhelming. You were right there. You stepped out on stage in that black tux and you were the most beautiful- and also the sexiest- thing I’d ever seen. I swear I was hard until the intermission. Squirming in my seat, thinking about excusing myself to jerk off in the bathroom.” He’s smiling. The story means something, yes, but in a lighthearted way.

So I laugh. “You can’t tell me things like that. Next time I play, that’ll be all I can think about.”

“Don’t worry. It doesn’t happen any more. I was caught by surprise that first time, but now I know what to expect.”

“Maybe I’ll have to give my wardrobe a shake up. Wear something unexpected, keep you guessing.”

“Sometimes when I listen to you I close my eyes and I’m back in Italy and I see you in nothing but a pair of shorts, you know. Like you were all those years ago.”

“That might not be the most practical choice now. It’s often drafty on stage. And I don’t think my manager would approve.”

“I should think not. I don’t think the classical music world is ready for that. But I’ll look forward to a surprise nonetheless. When will you be back here?”

I think. I have a busy schedule and I’m not exactly sure. “Some time next year. I fly back to Europe tomorrow.”

“I’ll call you, next time. We’ll go for dinner.”

“You promise?”

“I promise. And also? Next time I’ll send a note with the flowers.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on tumblr- [natures-cunning-ways](https://natures-cunning-ways.tumblr.com/).  
> 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The third thing that didn't happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't exactly how I wanted it to be but I had to post this now because if i get interrupted one more time I'm going to throw my computer off a bridge.
> 
> Remember- this is another thing that didn't happen. Nor did the previous 2 chapters.

I turn around and blush the same pink as the sun as I realise that he's been staring at me the whole time.

We look at each other and say nothing. Nobody else has ever looked at me like this. His expression is raw with want, and I feel as though I should turn away. Afford him some privacy in his moment of vulnerability.

I don’t get the chance. There’s no warning before he steps forward, takes my face in his hands and puts his mouth on mine.

Oliver used to be a better kisser than this. However heated things got, he still kissed like he was in control of himself. I was the one who had to be slowed down, held back. Maybe it was due to my relative inexperience, or maybe it was just the uncontrolled, horny eagerness of a seventeen-year-old in love for the first time.

But today he’s messy. Uncoordinated. My lips are going to be bruised and sore.

I love it. 

My hands hang limp by my sides until I get over the initial shock and move them to his waist at the same time as I slip my tongue into his mouth. He makes a noise and I feel it run down my spine.

We fit together just as we always did. Kissing him feels like the easiest thing in the world.

“Get in the car?” he asks, voice low. I open the door and we tumble gracelessly onto the back seat. 

The parking lot is, thankfully, neither well-lit nor busy. We’re in a secluded corner beneath a tree. I don’t think Oliver picked this spot with this in mind, but I have no way of knowing.

Kissing side-by-side soon gets uncomfortable in the small space so I move to straddle his lap and I can feel his cock , hard against mine through our pants. I bury my face in his neck, both because I like it there and because there’s not room for me to sit up fully. “You smell the same,” I tell him. “Under the cologne- which I like, by the way. It suits you. But I’d still know it was you.”

Oliver laughs. “Good. I like the smell of you, too. Now stop talking.” He moves my head from his shoulder and my mouth back to his. 

Kissing him without bumping my head on the roof of the car is a struggle, but we make it work. Just. The angle is uncomfortable and the kiss is too wet, but it’s not bad at all. I’m not thinking about the way his hands feel on my waist, the way my hips move against him and his against me- it’s just happening and it feels so natural, like we’ve never been apart. I could do this forever. 

Until Oliver puts a hand on my chest and pushes me away. “Fuck, Elio, stop,” he rasps. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, just let me-”

His hand moves down between us and I think he’s going to touch me- but no, he works on undoing his pants and freeing his cock from his boxers. Then starts to do the same for me. “Don’t want to come in my pants.”

Later, I’ll think back to that. The thing he probably left unsaid-  _ that’d be difficult to explain to my wife _ . Because no doubt she’s in charge of the laundry. Maybe she’s no stranger to that sort of thing, with two teenage sons and all. But certainly not from her husband.

But that thought comes much later. At the time- now- nothing could be further from my mind. I wriggle my pants down from my hips and inhale with a sharp hiss as he takes us both in his hand and begins to stroke, firm but frustratingly slow. I go back to his mouth, kissing him harder and deeper, only pausing to take his hand and spit in it. His hand moves faster after that until I have to stop kissing him because it’s just all too much. I bury my face in his neck and hear him breathing fast and heavy in my ear. I know that breathing, know what it means. I know that he’s getting close, but not quite there yet. He whispers my name.

My fingers scrabble at his shirt and I dig my fingernails into his shoulders, hard. Oliver like this is something I never expected to hear again, and that’s enough. I bite my own lip in an effort to be quiet as I come- which is a sensible idea in theory but actually a huge mistake. I throw my head back involuntarily, smacking it against the roof of the car with a  _ thunk.  _ My teeth break skin.

“Ow. Ow, ow, shit, that-” 

I fall out of his lap, and he squeaks as my knee lands perilously close to his balls. 

He looks at me, panting and confused. “Elio, what…? Are you okay?”

“Yes. No. My head.” I rub the back of my head, which is throbbing. My other hand goes to my mouth and comes away bloody.

I sit back on the seat. An hour ago I never would’ve imagined we’d be sitting side-by-side in the back of his car with our pants half off. Yet here we are. Oliver looks at me, concerned. I look down at his hand, covered in my come and still wrapped loosely around his cock. 

“Go ahead, finish off. If you want?” Even as I say it I know that it sounds extremely unsexy, but my head hurts and I’m just trying to be practical. My words are muffled, with a slight lisp, as I keep my hand over my lip to stop it from bleeding. 

“No, no, it’s fine. You’re bleeding, by the way.”

“Yeah, I noticed that. It’s just my lip. It probably looks worse than it is.”

Oliver leans between the seats and scrabbles around in the glove compartment until he finds a tissue packet. He hands one to me and I hold it to my mouth while he wipes his hand on another. Then he laughs. “We’re a disaster.” 

I sit for a while and keep dabbing at my lip until it stops bleeding.

“You mean  _ I’m _ a disaster.”

“You, especially. But also the two of us together.” He moves to pull his pants back up.

I grab his wrist. “No, wait. Don’t put that away. Let me suck you off.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea. What about your lip?”

“Oh, it’s fine.” I poke it with my finger. “See? All better. Please?”

I watch his expression carefully and see hunger war with uncertainty until he nods. I waste no time, because I don’t want him to change his mind and I know that once my mouth is around his cock he won’t tell me to stop.

Oliver taught me how to do this and, if my subsequent partners are to be believed, he taught me well. The way Oliver likes things has been the basis of every blow job I’ve ever given, but I’ve picked up a few new tricks along the way and I wonder if he’ll notice.

He moans, and it thrills me. If I was still seventeen, I’d be hard again already.

My mouth is greedy on him and I’m nothing short of delighted when he clenches his fists around my hair as he comes down my throat.

Afterwards I climb back onto his lap, because I need to hold him and that’s the best way to do it in the small space. Chest to chest, arms tight around each other.

I melt into him as he plays with my hair, strokes my back and hums contentedly. “I want more, Elio”

“Me, too. But I assume you don’t keep lube and condoms in your car, so it’s a no-go I’m afraid.” We’re caught momentarily in the headlights of a car pulling in to park several spaces away. I freeze, close my eyes and hold my breath, although I don’t know why. 

“I’m 39, married with two kids. We have sex in bed, or occasionally on the couch. I think the last time I had sex in a car was with you.”

I remember. We borrowed my dad’s car to go for a drive along the coast, and ended up fucking on the back seat. Looking at us now, I can’t imagine how we managed it. We weren’t any smaller than, and this is a much bigger car. I suppose we were more flexible, less self-conscious, more desperate.

No. Not more desperate, though until now I didn’t know I was still capable of feeling that sort of desire.

We let ourselves feel the easy comfort of memory and of simply being together for a few minutes, but someone has to speak eventually.

I feel his voice, a deep rumble in his chest. “So what happens now?” 

I turn his question back on him. “What do you think happens now?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never done this before.”

I have. Oliver is not my first married man. Experience tells me that  _ what happens _ is that he goes back to his happy little family, and I go to my hotel room and fly back to Europe tomorrow afternoon and we both pretend this never happened.

“I don’t want this to end.” It’s an odd choice of words, and alarm bells start to ring inside my head.

“I don’t know what you mean. There’s nothing to end. Nothing has even started, Oliver. This was a one time event, in the heat of the moment.”

“I know, but… I don’t want to lose you again. It’s been fifteen years, Elio.”

“You can’t  _ lose me _ . You’re not going to be losing me when we’ve only been together for a couple of hours.” Oh, how I wish that were true. I’m not sure which of us I’m trying to convince.

“I know that, but this- that just now, that was the...”

He shakes his head slowly and drifts off, looking for words. 

I move from his lap onto the seat next to him. I know I’m going to have to say some things that I don’t want to say and Oliver doesn’t want to hear. There’s no easy way around this.

“That was a quick blow job in the back of your car. If you’re about to tell me that that was the best sex you’ve had in years, I think I might just cry for you.”

“No, I wasn’t going to say that. But it… it was really something, right?”

“There’s a certain thrill about the risk of getting caught, that’s true. Whether it’s caught out in a public place or just caught cheating.”

His mouth opens in shock, then I see him clench his jaw in something close to anger. “I’m not a cheater, Elio.”

“Maybe you weren’t before, but you are now. Nobody’s a cheater until the first time they’re unfaithful, Oliver. Did you even stop to think about your wife?” My words are meant to hurt him, and I wonder if I hate him or if I just hate myself.

“She cheated on me, with a guy she worked with.”

“How is that relevant to this? I don’t want to be your sordid little revenge fuck.”

“That’s not what I-”

“I don’t care. Revenge or not, her cheating on you doesn’t give you a free pass to do the same to her.”

“I- look. Will you listen. Can you just let me explain?”

My instincts tell me  _ no, don’t listen _ . That I need to stay detached, that my cruelty is a means to protect myself from the things I might feel if I let myself.

Against my better instincts, I nod. 

“This was a few years ago now. Three, maybe four? It had been going on for months. I was devastated. Heartbroken. But the affair was over by the time I found out. She wanted to work things out, and I wanted that too. For the kids, partly, but also for myself because I loved-  _ love _ her. And things are fine. They’re not perfect, but they’re pretty good. So I’m not going to feel guilty for doing this with you.”

“Oliver, this is…” I don’t know what to say. I’m not sure if he knows that there’s almost no logic in what he’s saying. There are things going on in his head that I don’t think he understands. In short: he’s a mess. 

He doesn’t even try to hide the hope in his eyes when he asks, “Can I see you again some time?” 

No. Yes. “Are you asking me to have an affair with you? You’re going to be my fuck buddy whenever I’m in town? Is that really what you want?”

“No, it’s not what I  _ want _ . But I’ll take what I can get. It has to be better than not seeing you at all.”

“This is not what I want, Oliver. Not at all. I don’t want just sex without anything else. I couldn’t bear that, not with you. Not after everything.”

“Where does that leave us, then?” His voice is resigned.

“Right where we were before this happened, I guess.”

“And where was that, exactly?”

“Nowhere, Oliver. We hadn’t met in fifteen years, and I should have left things that way.”

“Would you have come if you’d known this was going to happen?”

I want to say no, but I’m not going to outright lie to him. I might say things which are deliberately cruel but even I have my standards. “I’m not certain, but probably. I’m not going to pretend that I haven't fantasised about something like this.”

“Do I live up to your fantasies?”

Oh, yes. And more. But there’s no point in telling him that. “In my fantasies you weren’t married. And it didn’t happen in the back of your car. And I didn’t bump my head.” I rub it again. “Wait- did I bump my head harder than I thought? Am I unconscious? Am I dreaming this?”

He pinches my hand. “Ow.”

“No. You’re not dreaming.”

I don’t want to ask him, don’t want this to end. But I need to know. “Oliver, what do you want to happen?”

“In an ideal world, where things are different to this one? Or in reality, with things being as they are?”

“Reality.”

He takes a long time to think about it, and I appreciate that.

“I miss you, Elio. Horribly. Sometimes when I start thinking about you I can’t sleep. Can’t concentrate on anything for days at a time. So what do I want, of all the things that could actually happen? I guess I just want to see you. Or at least speak to you. I loved you as a friend before anything else, and I would love to get that back. But this, this- this spark never went away. We were never  _ just _ friends. Not really. And i just don’t know if we could make it work.”

Then, because I don’t have an ounce of self-respect, I say it. “Okay.”

He looks puzzled. “Okay… what?”

I know I'm making a huge mistake. I shrug. “Okay, I’ll have an affair with you. I’ll come find you whenever I’m around here- which isn’t all that often, by the way. And we can do all the things I want to do to you.”

A voice in my head says  _ you’re worth more than this, Elio.  _ I ignore it.

Oliver looks at me suspiciously. “You make it sound so cold.”

“Well it is, really, isn’t it? It’s about making arrangements and plans and finding ways to sneak around without getting caught. It’s not at all romantic when you think about it.” 

“You know I’m not going to leave my wife.”

He is beautifully honest. He tells no stories of a miserable marriage or a wife who doesn’t understand him. How good will he really be at infidelity if he doesn’t even tell me the most common, most basic of lies? 

“I know that. I won’t ask you to.”

“Go away and think about it, then. I’m only going to do this if you promise you’re not going to wait for a time when we can be together properly. Because that might never happen, and you have to understand that. You have to promise that this thing- you and me- isn’t something that will hold you back and stop you from living your life. Promise you’re going to go out there and meet someone and break it off with me when you have to. I will cheat on my wife, but I don’t want you to do the same for me. You were always better than me. So go, now. Go away and take your time and know that if you want to call me sometime then I’ll be here. And if you never do, I’ll understand that too.”

I’m reeling. “What are we doing, Oliver? None of this is what I had in mind when I came to see you.”

“I know. But you always made me feel like I was going crazy.”

Perhaps he is. Perhaps we both are.

“I should go.”

We get out of his car and he kisses me once more, gently, before getting in to the driver’s seat.

“Elio?” I turn to look at him. “I’m sorry.”

I watch as his taillights disappear before going inside. I should go to my room, but I don’t. 

I head to the bar, order myself a martini and think of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This got away from me a bit. I had no intention of Elio consenting to have an affair with Oliver but it just happened. The ending got aaaaaaaaall messed up and I'm not sure how it happened.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr- [natures-cunning-ways](https://natures-cunning-ways.tumblr.com/).  
> 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yet another thing that didn't happen.

I turn around and blush the same pink as the sun as I realise that he's been staring at me the whole time.

Oliver catches me looking back at him and bites his lip, a nervous gesture that doesn't quite fit him somehow.

He opens his mouth to speak but takes a moment to think before he does it. 

“I know we said we’d have a drink, but I think I should go, actually.”

I don’t want him to. But. Given the way he’s looking at me? He’s right. This can’t end well. So I nod reluctantly. “You probably should.”

“I don’t want to, really, it’s just… i don’t think adding alcohol into this equation is a good idea, and I- look, what you said before. About preferring to feel nothing if you were to come meet my family. I know it’s only drinks, but still. I think I’d prefer to feel nothing, too, if we’re going to do that.” 

He looks devastated.

Oh, Oliver. My heart is breaking for him.

“That’s okay. I understand. Thanks for giving me a ride back here. It was nice seeing you.” I hope he doesn’t think I’m being dismissive, because I’m just trying to protect myself. I nod nervously then turn to go inside, suddenly cold.

“Wait. Elio. Just tell me something. Are you happy?”

I turn back. “Not always, no. But mostly? Yes. I am.”

“Tell me about you. I know about your career, but tell me something else. Are you seeing someone? Or married, or…”  _ Something personal,  _ he means.

“Not married, no. I don’t think I’ll ever marry. But there’s someone, yes. Something serious, something that’s been going on for a long time.”

“I’m happy for you.” His smile is genuine, but of course it would be. His happiness makes me happy, and I assume the reverse is true.

“And what about you?”

“Me?” He pauses and things for a long time. “I know you probably didn’t want to know- maybe you still don’t want to know- but I always wanted to tell you that I loved her, Elio. What you and I had… I didn’t let that go for nothing. I was very much in love with her. Still am. We have a great marriage, and we’re very happy together. Things are really good. Not that it’s all perfect, all the time- but it’s good.”

“That’s good.” We should stop saying good. I have an impressive vocabulary, and I know Oliver does too. Surely we can come up with something more interesting than  _ good _ ? But I suppose there’s something to be said for keeping things simple. 

“I didn’t know if you…” I shrug because I’m not sure what I want to say.  _ I didn’t know if you’d married for love? I didn’t know if you’d spent all these years hiding?  _ I always wondered. I’d hoped that he was happy- or at least I thought I did. But now I’m not so sure.

Because this? Oliver professing his love for his wife and his happy marriage? This might hurt more. Oliver, so deeply in love with someone who wasn’t me that he committed to marry her just weeks after he left me bereft in an airport. Sobbing into my pillow for weeks.

I want to tell him  _ I loved you. _

“I’m pleased for you, but I don’t know why you’re telling me this. You said you should go, but then you asked me a question and kept me talking. And it feels like you’ve not only opened up an old wound, but now you’re twisting the knife.”

“It feels like you should know. I wanted to marry her, and wanting that doesn’t diminish what I felt for you. Admittedly the timing wasn’t ideal, but she was pregnant so things got hurried along. It was the right thing to do.”

He’s right- I didn’t want to hear this then, and I don’t want to know it now either. I get what he’s saying, I really do. I see that it could- in theory- make me feel better. But I wonder if he’s really saying it to ease his own conscience. I’m annoyed, to put it mildly.

“That old cliché? Of course. Wow. You didn’t wait around when you got back from Italy. You must’ve been back in her bed before mine had time to get cold. Did she know you’d been having sex with a man, without protection, just weeks before? It was 1987, Oliver. We both know how risky that was. But wait- your son wasn’t born until two years later. What happened? Was she really pregnant, or was it just a way to finally get you to commit after all those years of on-and-off?”

Oliver is wide-eyed, as though he can’t believe what I’ve just implied about the wife he loves. “Yes. She was. And I’m not going into further detail. I owe you a lot of things, but I don’t owe you that.”

Me and my big mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. That was way out of line.”

“Yeah, it was. I didn’t have you down as being spiteful.”

Suddenly I could cry. There’s no point denying it- it was. Petty and cruel. I thought I was better, but it seems not.

“I’m sorry. Can i be honest?”

“Of course you can.”

“I hated her. I hated her for having the only thing I wanted. I wanted to hate you, but I was too busy loving you. And i told myself that you married her because you had to- which I suppose was true in a way- because if you’d had a choice you would have-”

I stop and gasp for breath.

“Elio. I had a choice. I married her for all the right reasons, and I don’t regret that. If i’d have chosen not to, then it wouldn’t have made being with you a more viable option.”

“It would have been better if you’d told me.”

“Would it? I should never have said anything even now. Even fifteen years later it’s upsetting you. Both of us.”

“I’m glad that you’re happy. I really am. I can accept that it couldn’t have worked there at the time. That it wasn’t a- what did you say-  _ a viable option _ .” It sounds so detached from the emotions of our reality. Perhaps that’s the best way to think of it. “I just wish that…”

“I know. Me too.”

“If things had been different, would you have chosen me?”

“I don’t know. There were too many factors. My kids, Elio.”

“Forget the kids. All things being equal.”

“But they’re not. And if they were, you and her- apples and oranges, Elio. There’s no way to compare. It’s not like that. You’re asking me impossible questions.”

I know he’s right, and suddenly I’m embarrassed. I’ve not shown myself in my best light this afternoon.

I tell him so and he smiles warmly. “It’s okay, Elio. I get it. Really I do. All of those questions, the things where not knowing is killing you, but there isn’t an answer, or at least not an answer that will give you the closure you need. So just answer me one thing. In the end, nothing else matters but this: would you do it all again, if you could?”

“In a heartbeat.”

He breathes a sigh of relief. Maybe he’s right, and that’s the only question that really matters. “Me too. Can I ask one more question? Then I promise I’ll go.” I nod reluctantly, all the while thinking _ oh, Oliver ask anything you like but please don’t go. Stay with me.  _

“Why did you come to see me today?”

“Honestly? For no particular reason. My father always suggests it.  _ You know Oliver is still there, you should give him a call, I’m sure he’d love to hear from you.  _ And right now I’m passing through town, that’s all. When I lived near here it never felt safe to come and find you. Not when there was the possibility of one of us saying  _ we should do this again soon,  _ and everything that would mean _.  _ Or even worse- to find that there was nothing between us, not even a friendship, just an evening of awkward chit chat. So now seemed like the right time, because I leave tomorrow, and before long I’ll be back on another continent. The stakes are low. There’s no danger of wanting or not-wanting more.”

He nods sadly.

“But maybe you should call again, next time you’re passing through town. Maybe if we were both prepared for it, things would be easier. We could actually get that drink.”

It feels like we’ve reached a truce.  _ Tregua _ .

“I’d like that. Give me your number?”

I left my cell phone in my room, so I accept the pen he takes from his pocket and write his number on the back of my hand. 

This feels like the right time to part ways. “I really should go inside. It’s getting chilly.”

“Until later, then.”

I don’t know how this ends. Are we going to shake hands? Should I hug him?

Luckily he has the answer. He pulls me into a short, hard hug and kisses my cheek loudly, the way my great-aunt used to do when I was a child.

I laugh. “What was that for?”

“I wanted to see what it felt like. With the beard.”

“And?”

“I like it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on tumblr- [natures-cunning-ways](https://natures-cunning-ways.tumblr.com/).  
> 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final thing that didn't happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one might be my favourite. And also I think of all the Oliver scenarios this might be the Oliver who is closest to the way I see the 'real' Oliver. Not that he's real. But you know what I mean.

I turn around and blush the same pink as the sun as I realise that he's been staring at me the whole time. And I realise, suddenly, that there are ghosts I need to lay to rest.

So I say it without giving myself a chance to think about how reckless I’m being with my heart. “I changed my mind. Is it too late to go for dinner at your place?”

His face lights up in beaming surprise. “Do you really mean it?”

“If you’re sure your wife won’t mind.”

“No, no, of course she won’t. She’ll probably be thrilled- she’d love to meet you. She fell in love with your parents when we stayed with them in Italy. Well, wait- actually she might mind if I don’t call her first. I need to give her some warning, especially since I already told her I’d be late back.”

Oliver takes out his phone. “Hi. It’s me again. Dad. Can you get your mom for me? I need to talk to her.”

I make an effort not to listen after that. I’m not so sure I’m ready for this meeting after all, but I can’t exactly back out now.

Oliver puts his phone back in his pocket. He looks happy but a little uneasy. “She said she’d decided not to make dinner since I wasn’t coming home. She told the boys they could order pizza, and she can’t exactly change her mind now, so I told her to order extra for us. Is that okay?”

I laugh at his concern. Does he expect me to turn up my nose at the prospect of pizza? Do I seem like someone who would consider fast food to be beneath me? I suppose I must. “Of course it’s okay. Sounds like fun.”

It is fun. Oliver fits into his family so easily. Like he belongs there- which of course he does. His wife apologises for the state of her home (which is beautiful, by the way) and for the fact that she hasn’t cooked dinner. We sit around the table in the kitchen and it’s how I imagine a typical family weeknight to be. Not that I have much to compare to- I was an only child whose own childhood was somewhat unconventional, and I don’t have children of my own. Oliver’s boys are loud, arguing over the food and kicking each other under the table. Sauce is spilled, crumbs are everywhere. Oliver chastises the younger one for wiping his greasy hands on his jeans and eventually sends them away to watch TV while he clears up.

So we sit in Oliver's kitchen. It feels just like the long after-dinners of a summer back in Italy. I’m glad I decided to come here because now, when I think about him, I’ll be able to place him in a house, with people. Like a neat and tidy little dolls’ house in my head where they can all live happily without ever growing or changing. 

Now I know what his home smells like when you walk through the door, and that’s important. It’s not something I can describe, such things never are- it’s just something that  _ is _ . The smell that makes people think _ ah, yes. Oliver’s house.  _ I take note and add it to my dolls’ house too.

And as we sit at his table with the murmur of his children’s voices in the next room and his wife putting the plates in the dishwasher I see it, with a clarity I’ve never had before- myself, in his life.  _ This is what I could have had _ . Casual evenings in his home, getting to know the other people in his life. Being invited to barbeques in the summer and to his sons’ bar mitzvahs. Being a small part of his world. 

But just as soon as I see that, I’m flooded with shame as I see other things which are a necessary addition to the fantasy. Stolen kisses in bathrooms, frantic encounters in the back of cars, illicit meetings in hotel rooms. Being a part of his world couldn’t work without them. 

It would never be enough.

Fortunately I’m pulled back out of my own head by Oliver as he pours himself another glass of wine. “You want another?”

I nod. “Yes, please.”

His wife shakes her head. “I’ll go join the boys. Make sure they’ve finished their homework, and leave you two to catch up.”

Which is exactly what we do. We talk, and talk some more. I let Oliver open another bottle of wine. Our conversation is interspersed with interruptions from Oliver’s family. His eldest boy comes scavenging for food (how can he be hungry again after all that pizza?), his younger son wants to ask Oliver something about his homework, his wife- a good hostess- checks if there’s anything else we need. I have no wish for this sort of family for myself, yet I envy him.

When his eldest son comes in again to say goodnight, I can't put it off any longer. I have to make myself look at my watch, check the time and- oh. It's getting pretty late. I’d like to stay here, talking long into the night and perhaps into the early hours of tomorrow or just until he tells me he’s had enough of me and sends me away. But this isn’t a lazy teenage summer. Oliver has to work tomorrow- he mentioned that he has to give a lecture at 9- and I have responsibilities of my own.

“I should go. It’s getting late, and I have a meeting in the morning.”

“Anything interesting?”

“No, just a work thing. It’s about a project which may happen a year or two from now. It’s at a very early stage and I’m not sure anything will come of it, but…” I shrug. “We’ll see.”

“Well, i hope it goes well. I’d drive you back to the hotel, but I’ve had too much to drink. I’ll call you a taxi?”

“That would be great. Thanks.”

Oliver makes the call and I suggest we wait outside. I need the fresh air. I say my goodbyes to his wife, who says  _ you must come visit again soon, I’ll cook next time _ .

We stand on the porch and I offer him a cigarette while we wait for the taxi. “Yes, please.”

I light them and we watch the smoke curl into the night.

His wife opens the door just a crack to shout out into the darkness. “I’m going to bed. You’d better not be smoking out there, Oliver.”

He hurriedly stubs it out and whispers to me, “Oops. Guilty as charged.”

I laugh. “You might as well have finished it. She’s going to know. The damage is already done.” She’ll smell it on him because when I’ve left he’s going to get into bed next to her. Will he kiss her goodnight? Will they-

Thankfully Oliver interrupts my thoughts before they take me even further down roads I don’t want to explore. “Thank you. For coming over. It means a lot to me.”

“I enjoyed it. It means a lot to me too. Thank you for inviting me. You have a lovely family. They’ve all made me very welcome.”

“Was it okay?” Oliver sounds hesitant. “You didn’t want to come at first, you said that you didn’t want to feel anything…”

“Well, as my father would remind me, you can’t go through life running away from feeling things. And I feel like… I like picturing you in this life. I like knowing where you live, who you love. Being able to see you as you are now. It’s comforting.”

Oliver nods and pauses. His next words are completely unexpected.

“You have no idea how much I want to kiss you right now. It’s killing, me, having you here and not being able to-”

I stop him. And take a step away. “Oliver, don’t. Please don’t make this difficult. Please don’t do this to me.” Suddenly I feel like I might cry. I swallow around a lump in my throat.

“I’m sorry. I know it’s selfish but I had to tell you.”

“Yes, it is selfish. You have no right to bring me here and say that.”

“You had no right to turn up unannounced at my place of work after 15 years and tell me that you still feel something.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You said that you couldn’t come to meet my family because you wouldn’t be able to  _ feel nothing. _ That’s the same as saying that you feel  _ something _ .”

“But I  _ did _ come to meet them, and you knew that I still feel something for you, and it’s unfair of you to say you want to kiss me.”

“I’m just being honest. It’s the most honest thing I could possibly say. You know what i wrote on the back of your postcard?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer. “Cor cordium, heart of hearts. I’ve never said anything truer to anyone in all my life. You’re not the only one who’s allowed to feel something.”

Fifteen years, and I was never sure. Fifteen years of doubt. Always wondering.

It’s all too much and I can’t make sense of it. Because how does one respond to something like that? 

“Just tell me one thing, Oliver. Are you happy?”

There’s a pause as he thinks. Not because he doesn’t know the answer, but because it’s a big question and it deserves time. “Yes. I think about the different, parallel life I might’ve had, of course I do. But I’m happy. Are you?”

“Yes. Not always, but mostly.”

My view of Oliver has shifted. For the past fifteen years, in my head he’s been a tortured soul, living a lie. Maybe deep in the closet, or maybe married because it was the easy thing to do. I hadn’t let myself see that his reality could be like it actually is. Here he is, just a normal person living a normal life. Well, as normal as any of us can be, I suppose. And yes, he may think about his parallel life, ( _ our _ parallel life?) but would he choose to live it even if he could? Or would he choose this same life all over again?

I’ve finished my cigarette and I want another one to give me something to do with my hands. Instead I twist my fingers together nervously.

And a taxi pulls up at the end of his driveway. There’s more to be said, more questions to ask, but there’s no more time.

We stand a step apart and look at each other. I need to memorise him here, in this life of his. He steps forward and crushes me in his arms.

He whispers, “Oliver.”

I didn’t expect that. I whimper. “Elio.”

When he releases me I walk away and get into the taxi.

I look back and see him standing on the porch watching me leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on tumblr- [natures-cunning-ways](https://natures-cunning-ways.tumblr.com/).  
> 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's the thing that actually happened after the sun set.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be 2 more chapters to follow.  
> Reference to blood in this chapter (a nose bleed, of course!)  
> I (very very very briefly) considered paying homage to the scene in Find Me where Samuel fucks Miranda on a luggage stand in a hotel room, but OBVIOUSLY NOT, I wouldn't do that to you (or myself).

I turn around and blush the same pink as the sun as I realise that he's been staring at me the whole time.

Many things could happen at this point. I see them all flash before me in a split second- different futures diverging in all possible directions. Good, bad, and everything in between.

What actually happens is that Oliver’s eyes widen as he sees something I haven’t noticed yet. Then I feel it- a trickle of blood drips from my nose onto my pale shirt. My hands fly to my face and pinch my nose.

The stain on my shirt blooms brighter than the sunset.

“Oh, fuck.” It’s a really nice shirt.  _ Was _ a really nice shirt. I suspect there’ll be no way of salvaging it after this.

“Hang on, hang on, I think I have tissues in here.”

Oliver opens the passenger door and throws things out of the glove compartment, eventually offering me a cloth which I press to my face. He takes my shoulder gently. “Here. Sit down.”

I perch on the edge of the seat, head between my knees, wondering if this evening can get any more embarrassing. Oliver stands next to me and puts a hand on my head, which is nice. I think the gesture may be paternal, and I want to ask him if his sons get nosebleeds. Instead I keep quiet, and sit and wait for the bleeding to stop. 

“I’m sorry. This isn’t exactly what we had planned.” I sit up a little, take the cloth from my face and wait a moment to see if I’m still bleeding, and... I don’t think I am. 

I look down at the bloodstained cloth in my hand. “What is this, anyway? Why does it smell damp? Why does it look so dirty?”

Oliver looks sheepish. “Because it’s the cloth I use for wiping the windshield. It was the only thing I could find.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Oliver, how could you? Only you could subject me to such an indignity and get away with it.”

Oliver holds out a hand and I let him pull me up. “Are you okay? Do you still want to get a drink? I understand if you just want to go and get some rest.”

“It’s just a nosebleed, Oliver. Really. I’m fine. But I need to go up to my room first and change my shirt.”

He starts to lag behind me in the lobby. This is the moment when I could say  _ go ahead, get the drinks ordered, I’ll be down in a few minutes _ . But it doesn’t occur to me to do so at the time. Instead I go to the elevator and he follows without question. “Come on, it’ll only take two minutes.”

I unlock my room and switch on the lights before taking off the bloody shirt and throwing it into the bathroom to deal with later. Oliver shakes his head and goes into the bathroom. I hear water running. “Don’t leave it on the floor, Elio. You need to soak it in cold water. It’ll help get the stain out.”

Since when did Oliver become domesticated? When I knew him in Italy he didn’t cook, he didn’t clean, he didn’t do laundry. (None of us did, but that’s beside the point.) He seemed untouchable, like someone who would never have to consider such mundane things as stain removal. Sensing my surprise, he laughs. “I have two kids, Elio. Parenthood is a great equalizer. I’ve cleaned up plenty of things worse than a bit of blood.”

I try to picture him changing a diaper, but the image won’t come. That fact that I’ve never seen anyone change a diaper probably doesn’t help.

Oliver sits on the edge of the bed while I pull clothes from my bag. I’m only here for one night, so I’m travelling light and I haven’t unpacked. Socks and underwear hit the floor until I find a shirt. The only other shirt I brought. 

I sigh. “I planned to wear this for my meeting tomorrow. If I wear it now I’ll probably just go and spill a drink on it.”

“Well you certainly can’t go to the bar as you are now.”

I look down at my chest, and blush. Should I have changed in the bathroom? It didn’t occur to me to do so, but now it feels like it would have been appropriate.

Oliver joins me by my bag and jostles me aside. “Come on, you must have something else to wear.” He takes the shirt from my hand and puts it on a hanger. “And this needs to be hung up.” Domesticated Oliver, again. I wonder if he’s about to offer to iron it for me. I’d probably let him- no, I’d  _ definitely _ let him- not because I’m incapable of ironing my own shirt but because it’s Oliver. (Just for the record- I’m excellent at ironing shirts. Mafalda taught me. And I can confidently say that, in general, pianists have smarter shirts than college professors).

“Let me have a look at that.”

I step away and he rifles through my clothes. He shakes out a plain black t-shirt and scrutinises it. “Here. Put this on.”

“I’m going to feel underdressed in a t-shirt. And this is pretty tight. It’s more underwear, really. I brought it in case I got cold in bed.”

Oliver loosens his tie and slips it over his head, putting it in his pocket before undoing his top two buttons. “There. Now we’re both a bit more casual.” The tiniest peek of his chest, that little triangle of skin, makes my mouth water. Taking his shirt off completely couldn’t have been more of a turn on.

“Just put it on, Elio, and let’s go. You’ll be fine. It’s not that smart of a bar, and it’s not like you don’t have the body to look good in a tight t-shirt.”

So he’s been looking. I can’t blame him- I took my shirt off as soon as I got through the door, after all.

I cross my arms, instinctively covering myself up. ”I’m not sure we’re the sort of friends who say things like that to each other.” I’m not sure we’re any sort of friends at all, really, but I save that thought for later.

Oliver looks shocked, as though he hadn’t quite realised what he was saying. “I know. I’m sorry. That wasn’t appropriate.”

I pull the t-shirt over my head and sit down, falling back against the bed and looking at the ceiling. “What are we doing, Oliver? What sort of friends are we? It’s been fifteen years. I have no idea what I’m doing here right now.”

Oliver is kind enough not to mention the fact that I was the one who came to find him, and that I could therefore be expected to be the one who knows why he is here. “I don’t know the answer to any of those things, Elio.” And then, after a pause, “I wish you’d come to find me sooner.”

“There was nothing stopping  _ you _ from coming to find  _ me _ .”

“You stopped writing, and I figured that meant you didn’t want to keep in touch. I think that that was a reasonable assumption. And aside from the commitments to work, and home, and family, I didn’t feel like I could. I had-  _ have- _ nothing to offer you. Why would I waste your time and possibly cause you distress or unhappiness, more than I already had? When we last wrote, you obviously weren’t over what happened.”

I can’t deny that. I’ve admitted, just an hour ago, that I’m still not over him. But I don’t want to talk about that. “You don’t think friendship is a worthwhile goal? 

“Of course it is. Friendship is always nice, but I don’t lack friends. I don’t need another- certainly not someone with whom friendship would never have been enough.”

I could think of a hundred things I would like to say to that but I settle for silence. 

I sit up. “We should go down and get that drink,” I say, without making any effort to move from the bed.

Oliver stands up decisively and walks toward the door. “You’re right, we should. Come on, let’s go.”

I follow him, feeling reluctant for no discernible reason. By the door I bend to put my shoes back on and when I stand up he’s  _ right there _ . His face inches from mine. I don’t think he meant to be- he’s just waiting by the door, minding his own business, waiting to leave the room and go get a drink. But.

Wide, blue eyes. His cheek, freshly shaven this morning but now with a hint of stubble. I touch it, almost involuntarily, and hear him inhale. Controlled and deliberate. His eyes close. How had I forgotten the gold of his eyelashes?

I swallow, and it feels loud in the quiet of the room. I let my fingers drift from his cheek to his chin, his neck. 

I can’t find the words I want to say, but I try. Shakily, in a whisper. “I. Um. I want to...” I swallow again, my throat tight. “Can I-”

Oliver keeps his eyes closed. “Don’t ask for permission. You know I can’t say yes, so just do it.” It’s hardly louder than breathing. 

“If I did ask, would you say no?”

He shakes his head.

It’s not an invitation I could possibly refuse. Not like this, not from him. I slide my hand to the back of his head and lean in to kiss him.

The feel of our mouths together is exactly as I remember. Nobody has ever kissed me like he does, not before him nor since. I press him against the door.

Oliver tangles a hand in my hair and pulls me closer, as though the thing inside him that still belongs- that will  _ always _ belong- to me is suddenly wide awake and refusing to be ignored.

We kiss right there, by the door, for a long time. Gently, sometimes, and then not so much. We slot together, lips and tongues, as though we’ve never been apart, and kissing him is the easiest thing in the world, more natural than breathing. Nothing has ever felt quite so  _ right _ .

He pulls back, and cradles my head in his hands, looking at me as though he thinks I'm the most beautiful thing in the world. I’m blushing, not used to this sort of attention.

Oliver starts to kiss his way down my neck. “I’ve missed this. I’ve missed you. Every-” he kisses me. “Single-” a little lower. “Day.” He’s reached the collar of my t-shirt and he pulls the hem up to lift it over my head and off. I raise my arms to help him. 

His hands are hot on my back and I gasp and slide my own hands around his waist, beneath his shirt. He smiles for a moment and kisses me again.

I don’t know how long we kiss for- all I know is that I don’t want to stop. But eventually I have to ask, “We’re not going for a drink, are we?”

“No, I suppose not. Let me take you to bed.” He walks there backwards, watching me as he leads me by the hand and pulls me down on top of him. It leaves me perfectly positioned to kiss the V of skin I noticed when he undid his shirt buttons earlier. It’s just as good as I imagined it would be. Oliver sighs happily and runs his hands down my back. I undo the rest of his buttons and he sits up to let me push the shirt from his shoulders. 

The awestruck way he looks at me is far, far too much so I push him back down with a hand on his chest and kiss him in all the places I can reach. When I run out of places, I take off his pants to find more. Then his boxers. Every single bit of him is perfect, from the familiar birthmark on his shoulder to the new scar on his knee. It’s clearly not recent, but it’s new to me. I lick it and he wriggles, with a laugh. “Hey. That tickles.” But I ignore him and keep going until he pulls me up. “Come back here. Kiss me.”

I do, raising my hips to give his hands space to unbuckle my belt and unbutton my pants. He pushes them down over my hips and, once they’re off, tosses them onto the floor in stark contrast to the respectful way he’d treated my shirts earlier. “You don’t think we should stop and hang those up?” I tease.

“No, I don’t think we should,” he says roughly, as he pulls me back down onto the bed. He flips me onto my back and kisses me all over, the way I did to him. And, because I’m completely naked, he does even more.

I think about lying here and just letting him do what he’s doing with his mouth. Would he let me come in his mouth? (Yes.) Would he want me to? (Also yes. Definitely. And then he’d let me do the same to him, which I would very much enjoy. The thought of it makes me gasp.)

But I might not get this chance again, ever.

“Wait. Oliver, stop.”

“Really?” He gives my cock one last, quick suck before looking at me mischievously. “You’re sure about that?”

“I- can we fuck?”

“You promised me- and I quote-  _ a drink, not a fuck.” _

“You don’t want to?”

“Of course I want to. If you do.” The hunger in his eyes tells me it’s true, very much so. “I- do you have… do we need?”

_ What are we, teenagers? Just say it. _

“Do we need a condom, you mean? Do I have one?”

He nods.

Oliver’s question implies that there’s no need on his part. That makes sense- he’s a married man, and I think he’s the type to be faithful, even if that’s not what’s happening now. And I know I’m fine, but it’s not that simple. “Yes, we need to. If we don’t, it throws up too many questions and expectations about who does or doesn’t trust who. And do I have one?” I think so, probably, in the bottom of my wash bag, but I’m not sure. I’ve had hookups in hotels in the past, but not so much recently. “Wait here.”

I dash into the bathroom, and glance at the sink, where my shirt soaks in pink water. I avoid looking in the mirror, not wanting to make myself suffer by comparing my own body with the one lying on the bed in the next room. Oliver, at 39, is still ridiculously attractive and I simply can’t live up to that.

So I hunt through my toiletries. Razor, toothpaste, deodorant… and in the bottom, a long-forgotten condom. The condition of the wrapper suggests that it’s been there for a really long time. I check the expiration date. It’s fine. There’s also a bottle of lube, which appears to be empty- but I hold it up to the light to inspect it more closely and there’s still a bit left. It’ll do, and it’s preferable to the tiny hotel bottle of lotion that had previously caught my eye. 

Oliver is propped up on his elbows waiting for me to return. “We’re in luck,” I say as I drop the condom on the pillow.

“Good. Come here.” Oliver pulls me close. “You want me to fuck you?”

“Yes. Yes, yes, yes.”

He touches me, uses the last of the lube, puts on the condom. Kissing me and whispering words of affection the whole time.  _ I missed you. So much, you have no idea. I missed your skin, I missed your eyes, I missed the sound of your voice. I missed the way you say my name, your name. I want to stay here and do this forever. Elio, Elio, Elio. _

Me, too. 

He puts me on my back and chastises me when I turn my head away, overwhelmed with everything, with him-  _ don’t hide, open your eyes, kiss me-  _ and I do, because he asks me to. And when he pushes inside me all I can think is  _ Oliver _ , and  _ don’t stop. _

He is the missing piece of my soul, the part I lost many years ago, and the realisation stops me from breathing. I don’t realise that I’ve said it out loud until he buries his face in my neck and says, barely clear enough for me to hear,  _ I know, Elio, I know. It’s the same for me. Always has been. _

I hope that this never ends. I try to draw it out- I slow him down, take calm, deep breaths, resist the desperate urge to touch myself. But of course none of it works, and when Oliver takes my cock in his hand I come in no time at all. Oliver follows moments later, before collapsing on me. I laugh- not because anything is funny but because I’m just so happy it’s bubbling over.

As I catch my breath, everything feels so simple. Everything that matters is here in this room. 

I lie with him and let myself drift away in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on tumblr- [natures-cunning-ways](https://natures-cunning-ways.tumblr.com/).  
> 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their night together becomes morning.

We doze contentedly for a few minutes. I try not to fall fully asleep, focusing instead on committing this- the feel of him, the way he breathes- to memory. I have been lucky enough to have this night and that’s more than I ever dared hope for. Surely I’ll never get to have him again.

But all too soon Oliver wriggles from my grasp, giving me a quick kiss on the top of my head, and sits up.

He puts his shirt back on. “You’re leaving.” I don’t need to ask, because I feel the truth of it in the pit of my stomach.

Oliver puts a calming hand on my arm. “No. I’m not leaving. I’m just hungry, and I was going to get out of bed to grab the room service menu. But it’s cold in here, hence the shirt. Mind if I take a look at the heating controls?"

Not leaving, then. I breathe a sigh of relief. "Be my guest. I'm going to take a quick shower."

“You want me to order some food?”

“Yes, please. I don’t mind what- just order whatever you fancy.”

I leave him puzzling over the controls on the wall while I go for a shower.

It starts slowly. A sniffle while I’m trying to adjust the temperature of the shower. Then another. I rub my eyes. And the next thing I know I’m sitting under the shower spray, on the floor of the bathtub with my arms wrapped around my knees. I’m choking on my own sobs and I can’t remember how I got here. 

The shower is warm and comforting and I try to focus on that and forget about everything else. About my own stupidity for coming to find the man who I never really got over, for bringing him to my hotel room, and for falling back in love with him in the space of an evening. How am I ever supposed to let him go again? Maybe he’s already gone, maybe he took the opportunity to leave while I’m in the bathroom, maybe-

Someone- presumably Oliver- is knocking on the bathroom door.

“Elio? Elio, are you alright?” He pauses for a moment, but I don’t answer. “I’m coming in, okay?”

There’s no point in objecting- I doubt he’d listen to my protests and the door doesn’t have a lock.

It’s quiet for a moment after he opens the door. Then. “Oh, Elio. Elio. It’s okay. Hey, come here.” And I feel him put his hands on my shoulders.

I look up and am greeted with the most bizarre sight. Oliver has jumped straight into the bathtub and is kneeling opposite me, still in his shirt and underwear, quickly getting soaked by the shower. He pushes my dripping hair out of my eyes and looks at me, distressed.

“Elio. Look at me, please. What’s wrong?”

My head falls back down onto my knees and the sobs start anew. Oliver says nothing, just strokes my hair and lets me cry and cry some more.

But even when it feels like you might never stop, you do. You can’t keep crying forever. Eventually I cry myself out, rub my eyes and look at him. “I’m sorry.”

Oliver is sitting in the shower half-dressed and soaked through, his shirt sticking to his skin. It would be funny if it wasn’t for his wide-eyed expression of concern. 

“Don’t apologise for having feelings, Elio. Just don’t, not ever. It’s taken me many years to learn that.”

I smile weakly. “When did you get to be so wise?” I think that he was always wise, actually. What I really mean is  _ when did you get to be so comfortable, so confident in talking about such things? _

“I’m not sure I’m wise, Elio. But what I do know I found after a lot of time and a lot of soul searching. So… do you want to talk about it?”

I shake my head. It’s not so much that I don’t want to talk about it, it’s more a case of not knowing what to say. How to start. But I tell him the smallest, simplest part of it. “I’m scared. Of what it’s going to feel like to lose you again. I have vivid memories of what it feels like to lose you.”

Oliver sighs- but in sympathy, not impatience. He nods, and puts his hands on my knees. “I know. Come on, let’s get dried off and eat. You’ll feel better. Then we can talk.”

Oliver stands up, strips off his wet clothes and washes quickly before starting to get dried while I wash my hair. By the time I’m finished, he has a fluffy towel at the ready to wrap me in. I fall into his open arms and rest my head on his shoulder as he rubs my hair dry with another towel. 

The food arrives shortly after, and I realise how famished I am. We sit on the bed facing each other with plates balanced on our crossed legs, talking and laughing like old friends. It feels just as easy, just as normal as everything else we’ve done tonight.

But it can’t last. Oliver stacks the plates back onto the tray and sits back down. He takes both of my hands in his and starts talking without preamble. 

“I’m scared of losing you again too.” I’m relieved that it’s not just me, that this wasn’t just a quick, convenient fuck for old times’ sake for him.

“This is going to hurt like hell in the morning. I should never have come to see you.”

“Maybe not? Only you can decide if it was the right thing. I’m glad you came, even if it’s going to hurt when you’re gone. But I know that this isn’t the end for us.”

“What do you mean?” I’m intrigued. Oliver looks completely confident, like he knows something that I don’t.

“It’s going to sound crazy, but I know that sooner or later you and I get a second chance.”

“You can’t know that. And if it is true, then tonight might have been it. The second chance might have been and gone.”

“I know, I know, I told you it sounds crazy. But I just know. I don’t know when, or how, but I’m sure it’s going to happen. Not today, because it’s not the right time for me nor, I think, for you. Maybe not the next time we meet, or even the one after that. But some time, I think we’ll get a real, proper second chance. Call it fate, if you like.”

_ Call it fate?  _ I don’t like, but Oliver says it with complete conviction. 

_ You have the heart of an artist,  _ I’ve been told. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t believe in logic and reason. And logic tells me that there’s no such thing as fate, or love at first sight, or  _ the one.  _ None of those things are real. There’s definitely no way of  _ knowing _ that you’ll get to be with someone at some point in the future. 

So I laugh. “Do you know how ridiculous you sound?” I’m questioning his sanity right now, but I don’t want to tell him that.

“Absolutely. But it’s what I believe. Elio.” He says my name slowly and strokes my face. “You and me... how can we not? This can’t be over. It can’t. Believing that there’s something more for us… I’ve held on to that for a long time, and I’m not going to stop believing it any time soon.”

It should be ridiculous, but actually it’s comforting. Maybe there’s a chance he could be right.

I go back to something he said. “What makes you think that this isn’t the right time for me?”

"Because I know that those weren't the tears of someone who's in a place to start something with someone new right now. Whatever you’re crying about, it’s not just about me, about what happened tonight. You didn’t come to see me hoping for a relationship."

"How do you know that?"

"Because I know you, and I know those tears. Those are the same sort of tears I cried when I left you. You’re crying because you lost something and you’re trying to deal with that. When I left Italy… I was numb for a while, then I cried for a while, then I fell back into the arms of my now-wife, because it was the easy thing to do. But doing that wasn't fair on her and it wasn't fair on me. I know what that feels like, and that’s how I know you’re not looking for a relationship. You’re a better person than me- I know that you wouldn’t want to jump into something just to forget about whoever’s broken your heart.”

Does he regret it? Falling back into her arms? Did he do it just to forget me? I don’t know if I can ask that. 

“Getting married was easy, but was it right?”

Oliver scoots back across the bed and settles himself more comfortably against the headboard. “Yes, in many ways. It was more than a matter of trying to get over you, of course it was. We’ve had a fulfilling marriage, two beautiful kids… but now here I am, seeing you, and it feels like all of that was a consolation prize for someone who could never have what he really wanted.” He looks uncomfortable and he says his next words to himself more than me. “What a terrible thing to say.”

I can’t argue with that. It kills me to see the self-loathing in his eyes, but I leave him to think, and to continue when he’s ready. 

“I never told you much about my family.” No, he didn’t. I shake my head. “Well, you know I’m an only child. And you know that my family wasn’t like yours- although I daresay that my upbringing was actually much more normal than yours. When I was growing up, my father was… well, he worked a lot, he travelled for business a lot, and when he was around he was very emotionally distant. So it was mostly just me and my mom, and she was always there for me. She knew about me. She didn’t know the details, but she knew enough. She was supportive, in her way, but she worried. She wanted to see me happy, and settled, and she would never have put pressure on me by saying so but I knew she wanted grandchildren. We’d known my wife’s family forever. We’d dated on and off, and we’d thought about getting engaged in the past, so it wasn’t a new idea. It seemed like something that would make everyone happy. I thought it might even be enough to make me happy. I know that’s a fucked up reason to get married.”

“But it worked out okay.”

Olives inhales slowly and nods. “Yes. It worked out okay. I don’t think it was the wrong decision for me.”

I think that  _ not-wrong  _ is not the same as  _ right,  _ but I don’t think either of us really wants to have that discussion.

“So that’s the story of my marriage, and that experience is what tells me that you didn’t come to see me today in the hope of getting back together. You wouldn’t do that to me, or to yourself. So tell me- if you want to, that is- who broke your heart, Elio?”

I haven’t really told anyone about this yet. My parents think that it was a mutually agreed breakup. Even though I haven’t done anything wrong, it’s too embarrassing to talk about what happened. About how fucked up it’s left me. 

"A couple of months ago I found out that my partner of six years was cheating on me. He’d been cheating for nearly two years. We were supposed to be getting married next summer. But now? Now there are a hundred wedding invitations back in my apartment that are never going to be sent, but I can’t bring myself to throw them away."

Oliver is visibly shocked. “Is it weird that I want to kill this guy?”

I laugh. “No, that’s not weird. But don’t.”

“What happened? How did you find out?”

“I’d been touring in Europe for over a month, and I managed to get a flight home a day early because I missed him and I thought it’d be a nice surprise. And you probably think I’m going to say that I walked in on them fucking in our bed, but actually they were just snuggling on the couch, which was kind of worse. It was so domesticated- he’d cooked a nice dinner, and- and- and her stuff was everywhere. She looked so at home there, which made sense because she’d obviously been more or less living there while I was away. I went straight to a hotel, and only went back there to collect my things. He said he was sorry, and that I was overreacting and that he didn’t want to lose me. All the usual things. He promised not to see her again, but now he’s marrying her so I guess he changed his mind about that.”

“He works fast.”

I shrug. “Not really. He’d been seeing her for a long time. I knew her. She was an acquaintance in an orchestra I’ve played with a few times. I introduced them. That’s how stupid I am.”

I can see that Oliver understands what a mess this is, but instead of offering pointless sympathy he cuts to the chase and asks the only question that really matters. “Do you want him back?”

I want to give the right answer, which would be something like  _ after what he did to me? No way.  _ But why lie? I’ve never hidden anything from Oliver before. “A part of me still does, yes.”

Oliver squeezes my hand. “I know it’s not worth much, but I’m sorry. I can’t even imagine how much that hurts.” I’m pleased that Oliver doesn’t make comparisons to himself or what he did to me. This isn’t the same thing. 

“So yes, you’re right. I’m not in a place to be starting a new relationship, nor am I looking for one. I need some time for myself, time to get over this, time to get to a place where I can trust someone again. And I’m definitely not looking to be the other party in a married man’s affair. I mean I- tonight was-” I worry that my tone is accusatory, but Oliver doesn’t care.

“Shush. Don’t worry about that. This isn’t an affair, this is just a moment out of reality. Allowing ourselves one night to live a moment from a parallel life we might’ve lived. I don’t want you to regret it.”

“Are you going to spend the night?”

“Yes, if that’s okay with you.”

“What about your-”

“Honestly? I don’t know. Leave me to worry about that.” He laughs to himself incredulously. “I have no idea what I’m going to tell her. It’s surprisingly freeing.”

“Isn’t she going to worry?”

“No, that would be unkind. I’ll send her a message, tell her not to wait up. I’ll need to be back in time to take the boys to school, so... I suppose i can pretend I slept in the spare bed so as not to disturb her.”

And this is how it starts. A web of white lies and omissions. But this is also how it ends. 

“If she asks? Where you were, who you were with, what time you came home?”

“Maybe I’ll just tell her. Maybe I’ll get it all out in the open. Maybe it’s time to sit down and say  _ so, Micol, I love you and I really am attracted to you, but I’m actually more gay than straight and it’s becoming increasingly hard to live in this marriage.” _

“Is that what you want?”

Oliver thinks for a really long time. Eventually he whispers, “Yeah. I do. I didn’t know it until now, but yes. And it’s not just because of what’s happened tonight. If I take you out of the equation the answer is still the same. It’s a hard thing to admit but I think I’ve known for a while that my marriage isn’t going to be forever. Though if I get to choose, I don’t want it to end right now. I’m not ready for that yet.”

So this is Oliver’s truth. 

I pull him down into my arms. We kiss for a while, gentle and patient, then I fall asleep watching him.

*

The alarm on Oliver’s phone pulls me out of sleep. I don’t need to open the curtains to know that it’s still dark out.

Oliver stretches and reaches over to stroke my cheek. “Elio? Are you awake?”

“Just about. What time is it?”

“Four-thirty. I have to go. Get home a while before everyone starts to wake up.”

“I know.”

“But you can go back to sleep.”

I sit up. 

“Don’t be silly. I’ll see you out to your car.”

Oliver smiles and kisses me, then uses the bathroom and gets dressed. 

“Is your shirt dry?” After our shower last night he wrung it out and hung it up in the bathroom. 

“A little damp, but it’s okay.”

“That’s good.”

We look at each other, neither knowing what to do next, until Oliver reluctantly says, “I need to go now.”

“Come on, then. Let’s go. Have you got everything?” I want him to leave something behind, something tangible, something other than his heart but he didn’t bring anything with him. We only meant to get a drink, after all.

We keep a distance from each other in the elevator, through the lobby, across the parking lot.

I grab him and hug him tight before he can get into his car. He laughs. “There’s no need for that. I wasn’t going to leave without saying goodbye.”

“I know, but…”

“Listen.” He holds me by my arms and looks at me. “Last night wasn’t the end for us. That wasn’t our second chance. But that chance will come, I promise. Don’t wait for me, and I won’t wait for you, because that’s not how this works. When it’s the right time it will all work out.”

It doesn’t make any sense, but I believe him nonetheless. I kiss him lightly and with love and let him go.

It’s cold, and I wrap my arms around myself as he starts his car and pulls out of the parking lot.

I watch him leave, and that little moment of living a parallel life is over. Oliver may be gone, but this time I don’t mind at all. I feel calm and refreshed, ready to take back control of my life. 

Maybe even happy, for the first time in a long while.

As the car disappears out of sight the first of the sun’s rays start to glow above the horizon. I smile at the sunrise.

It’s going to be a beautiful day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this the end for them? SPOILER ALERT: no
> 
> You can find me on tumblr- [natures-cunning-ways](https://natures-cunning-ways.tumblr.com/).  
> 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 5 years later...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaand that's it! Thank you to everyone who's been following along, and extra thanks to everyone who left kudos, and even more thanks to everyone who's commented. It means so much!  
> I have more things in progress- some one-shots for the cmbyn bingo challenge and, of course, the erectile dysfunction fic I've been working on forever. So watch this space!

_ Somewhere in northern Italy, Summer 2007 _

When my father told me about Oliver’s divorce, I asked him to pass on a message from me.  _ Tell him that I’m sorry to hear that, and that I hope he’s doing okay.  _ My father gave me a strange look, which was unsurprising given that I’d never once before, in seventeen years, asked him to pass on a message to Oliver. I’d never really responded much at all to his news about Oliver, which of course was telling in itself.

I truly was sorry to hear about his divorce. Break ups are seldom easy, and this was the end of a seventeen-year marriage. Given what he’d said when I saw him last, I had some idea of how difficult it must have been for him regardless of who suggested the separation. I hoped that he was coping well, but I didn’t get in touch with him.

The following year we tried to meet up, to finally have that drink. But our schedules just didn’t line up, and it didn’t happen. Almost like it wasn’t meant to be. 

But now, twenty years after our summer, he’s coming back to Italy to visit for a single night on his way to a meeting with his publisher in France.

A lot can happen in one night.

*

“You look really well, Elio.” We hug tightly but only briefly, then step back.

He’s not wrong. When he saw me last I wasn’t in a good place. I’d lost a lot of weight I didn’t have to spare in the first place, and I was miserable. I know that I look happier and healthier now.

Oliver looks just the same as ever. Of course he does. “As do you. Still running, I guess?”

He grins. “Every day. I got out of the habit after the divorce, but it’s good to be back into it again. Maybe you’ll join me in the morning? It’d be nice to see how the old places have changed.”

“That’d be nice. You’ll be surprised by how much has stayed the same. Now- come sit down. Let me get you some coffee. Or perhaps you’d prefer juice? And something to eat, of course.”

And we sit down at the table outside, just like old times.

We talk about everything and nothing. About Oliver’s boys, who live with him half of the time. About the cost of college. His younger son is musically inclined, a violinist, so I tell Oliver I’ll send them concert tickets when I’m next playing in the area.

“He’d appreciate that, but I may not be there.”

“Oh?”

“I was actually in Rome because someone I used to work with teaches at La Sapienza now, and she offered me a job. I thought I should at least come and visit, and discuss it. And see my publishers in France while I’m over here. And to come back here too, of course. It all worked out rather nicely.”

“You’ve been headhunted?”

Oliver laughs. “Sort of, I guess.”

“Do you think you’ll accept the post?”

“I’m not sure yet. I’m leaning towards yes. It feels like it could be the right time for a change. But there are a lot of things to think about. The kids, mostly. I haven’t even mentioned it to them yet. But it wouldn’t be for another year, and by then they’ll both be in college. Maybe they’d like to spend their vacations in Italy. It would all be a big change for me.”

“It’s a huge decision, moving to another continent.”

“You seem to split your time between both quite successfully.”

“True. That’s another option you could consider. It works well for me because I don’t have anything to tie me down, but it could work for you. There’d be long university holidays when you could go back.”

Oliver nods thoughtfully and pours himself another espresso.

*

It’s a beautiful day with a cloudless blue sky. I ask Oliver what he wants to do, because he is after all a guest.

“Revisit the old haunts, I guess. Relax. Take a swim this afternoon if it gets too hot.”

“Mind if I join you? Or did you want some time to yourself?

“I was rather hoping you’d join me, but I understand if you’re busy.”

I’m not. We don’t have two bikes in working condition so we walk to town, where we have a long, leisurely lunch at a table outside on the Piave. The conversation flows as freely as the wine, which perhaps we have one glass too many of. I’m not sure if it’s the wine or the heat or just him making my head spin.

Oliver remarks on the things that have changed and the things that have stayed the same.  _ We’ve both changed,  _ I think.  _ And yet not at all.  _ We don’t talk about the last time we met, and the things that were said.

I ask him about his divorce.

He swirls the wine in the bottom of his glass absent-mindedly. “It was hard. Really hard. It was a tough couple of years. But the last year or so has been better. I finally started dating again last year, at the suggestion of my kids, believe it or not, and… it wasn’t so bad. Not as terrifying as I thought it might be. I had one relationship that lasted a few months, but it became apparent that it wasn’t going to last and we were both happy to cut our losses and move on. It all made me feel kind of… normal, actually. Like a real adult.”

I laugh. “You were married for seventeen years and have two grown children, but it was dating in your forties that made you feel like a real adult?”

“What can I say? I went straight from school to college, and I never left. I was married young, to someone I’d known since childhood, and I was a parent soon after. Taking some time to grow into myself was long overdue. And now I finally feel like I’m okay with myself. I’m comfortable alone in a way I never knew I could be.”

_ I know myself,  _ he used to say. And I, seventeen and naïve, believed him because I didn’t know any better. In hindsight it was all just another way for him to hide from himself. I’m proud of him for getting to the place he’s in now. I don’t want to tell him with words, but I reach over the table and squeeze his hand, just for a second.

Oliver puts his wine glass down and looks at me intently. “And how are things with you? You haven’t really said.”

“Well, I’m sure you remember the state my personal life was in when I saw you last?” Oliver nods. “It took me a long time to trust anyone again. A really long time. I’m ashamed to say that I was a shitty boyfriend for a couple of years. Having been hurt myself I should've known better. I did know better, really, but I did it anyway. So I regret that. Then I started seeing a man who was a single dad. He had a little girl, four years old. In the end, he and I broke up because it was the right thing to do. I adored his daughter, but it wasn’t fair of me to stay in that relationship when I didn’t feel like I could fully commit. I didn’t want to be this person who flitted in and out of her life. It wasn’t just about him, and they needed something that I couldn’t be. Not with a young child involved. And that was hard, so hard to do- but it felt sort of great as well. To have ended a relationship on good terms, for a good reason, like adults. And it’s been a year or so since then. Things are good, you know? I’m doing fine on my own.”

Oliver downs the remains of his wine. “So. Do you want to head home? Or can I buy you an ice cream first?”

*

By late afternoon we return home, have a swim then have dinner with my mother. She asks Oliver about his work and his children and he’s happy to explain. I mostly listen, enjoying the sound of his voice and watching his expressions change as he talks about his life.

“What do you want to do? I can get us another drink, or we could take a walk if you like.” 

“I could do with walking off that dessert. Then drinks when we get back?”

“Sure.” I go upstairs to put on a light sweater, guarding against the chill which is just starting to hang in the air.

Oliver leads the way, and I don’t realise where we’re going until he turns down the track which leads us off the road and to the berm where two boys kissed for the first time twenty years ago. 

He sits down. “The view has changed more than I thought it would.”

“Those trees have grown a lot bigger. You can only just make out the church now. But over there,” I point, “the woods were cut down and some new houses were built. You can’t see them from here, though.”

“You know exactly what’s different. It’s still a beautiful view. You still come out here, then?”

“Sometimes. Not often.”

“It’s changed, but I’d still recognise it. Monet would still recognise it too, I think. Much of it hasn’t changed in a hundred years.”

“I think that some things always stay the same. They may change in superficial ways, but there’s something deeper that will forever be the same as it always was.”  _ You and I,  _ I want to say.  _ Maybe. _

As though he’s read my mind, Oliver looks at me almost shyly and says, “I feel like now might be the right time for that second chance. At least, it could definitely be the right time for me.”

“Me too.”

Sometimes things are so simple. He leans across and kisses me.

*

We lie in the grass and kiss hungrily until we get bored. No, that’s not true. The truth is that we kiss in the grass until things are bordering on indecent given that this is a public place. Once that would have excited me, but now I’d just prefer to have him somewhere private.

We walk back home hand-in-hand, giddy. 

I want to take him upstairs, but I know I'm not going to get another chance to do this again. To savour the delicious feeling of anticipation. So we sit at the table with my mother and have a drink under the trees. The tension between us is off the charts. He caresses my ankle with his toes. I'm hard the whole time.

And he knows it. When my mother excuses herself to use the bathroom, he looks at me and snorts with laughter. “Can you hear yourself? You were spouting complete nonsense just then. You want me so badly you can't even hold a coherent conversation.”

I reach a hand over to his crotch and squeeze firmly. He closes his eyes and bites his lip. "You're no better. You're so hard you're going to come just from looking at me if we keep this up much longer."

He takes my hand away. "Fuck, Elio. Behave yourself."

"What, you don't want to…?"

"You know exactly how much I want to, you horny little shit. But you wanted a drink, so let’s finish that first. Patience. All in good time."

I have none. It seems like forever until my mother announces that she's going to bed. The moment she's gone I'm in his lap kissing him and savouring the friction between us. Oliver laughs at me again. “Someone’s eager.”

“Let’s go upstairs?” I take his hand and pull him up from his chair. 

We kiss in the kitchen, on the stairs, in the hallway, and as soon as we get into his room- my room- he pushes me against the door and has my clothes off in record time. I push him onto the bed, frustrated because I can’t get enough of his skin under my hands and mouth. He is just as beautiful as ever, maybe even more so.

We fuck twice in impressively quick succession.

"I didn't know I could still do that," says Oliver afterwards, as though he can’t quite believe his own virility. I’d laugh, but I’m too breathless.

The first time is almost frantic, all about need. The pleasure is only a side effect of something far more primal, and we don’t even care that it’s over much too quickly. 

But the second time there’s no hurry, and we appreciate every moment. I want to tell him that I love him, that I’ve never loved anyone else the way I love him. But I save that for later, just because I can. We have time, after all.

The second time just about wipes us out and, unable to function on more than the most basic level, I wrap him in my arms and fall asleep, more content than I've been in years.

*

We have a late breakfast complete with secret smiles and gentle, not-quite-accidental touches. "What time do you have to leave?"

"This afternoon,” he says reluctantly. “I'm staying in a hotel tonight then seeing my publisher in the morning. Then I fly home tomorrow evening."

"Don’t. Stay.”

Oliver takes a moment to think. "I could come back here again tomorrow after my meeting. Call the airline and see if I can change my ticket."

"I could drive you to Menton. Stay with you in your hotel and do unspeakable things to you. It might be nice to get away for a night."

"Then we could come back here tomorrow afternoon and I could stay til the middle of next week, if I can get a ticket then."

I hand him the phone.

*

Over lunch, we make a pact. Oliver will never again leave without a ticket to come back, or without me having a firm plan in place to come and visit him. I fetch my diary and a pen and Oliver boots up his laptop. We spend a very pleasant hour or so comparing schedules and making plans.

I point at my calendar. “I have concerts here, and here, but I’m free in between.”

Oliver loads up the dates of the next semester. “I have a week off for thanksgiving, where will you be then? Could you spend it at my place?”

There are a few dates in my diary which are unconfirmed. “I’ll cancel that one, I don’t really want to do it anyway.”

And best of all, Oliver points to a date just a few weeks from now: “I have two weeks free in August before school starts, I could come back here. I could even bring the kids, if you don’t think it’s too soon?” 

I would love that, but at the same time It will always be too soon. The thought of actually meeting Oliver’s sons is terrifying. Do they look like him? Will I like them? What if they hate me?

Oliver nudges my arm with his elbow. “Hey. Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“Overthinking. There’s no hurry to meet them. I just thought they might enjoy a vacation here before they go back to school, and you might like to meet them here, in your own space. But you don’t have to. No pressure. Think about it.”

When we’re done here I’ll throw a few things into an overnight bag and we’ll drive to Menton. As promised, I will do unspeakable things to him in the hotel room his publisher is paying for. 

And right now? Right now I’m happy. Planning a future together. What a way to spend an afternoon.

We plan out our year, month by month, one holiday to the next, counting down until next June. Because as soon as college finishes for the summer he'll move to Rome, to the apartment I'll have been furnishing for the past few weeks. My piano, his desk, a happy mess of books and sheet music everywhere. A photograph of two young men by a pool in the Italian sun, with their feet tangled together in the water. 

Oliver will bring with him a postcard which once hung in my bedroom, then in his office. Before we hang it on our wall he’ll show me what he wrote on the back.  _ Cor cordium _ . “Heart of hearts,” he’ll say. “I’ve never said anything truer in my life.” I might cry, but only a little.

We'll open a bottle of champagne and watch the sunset from our balcony, and drink to second chances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on tumblr- [natures-cunning-ways](https://natures-cunning-ways.tumblr.com/).  
> 


End file.
